Moments Between
by natalieashe
Summary: Bond is missing. Q has waited days for news.


In the spaces between breaths there exist moments like this. Soft, blurred edges that belong outside the constraints of time, because they should last forever in the heart without a specific _'then'._ It is not a hard fact, accurately measurable. It is not a precise time he can define with a series of digits. The exact moment he falls in love is the instant he stops and just tumbles. It is a long dizzying drop that lasts forever and is over in an instant. Before it, he is one man stronger alone. Afterward he is lost and found, greater than the man, weaker than a child, but with such hope swelling in his chest he fears it will sweep him away.

He waits in the doorway, halfway between darkness and light, afraid to cross that threshold to make the moment real. Love sleeps, cradled against soft cushions, oblivious to the momentous change he has wrought, and perhaps he dreams. Love shifts and whimpers in distress, curling long limbs and lean body into a protective arc, and his head burrows against the smooth cream fabric. More than a youth, less than a man. Far more than he deserves.

He limps silently to the chair and drops to his knees, blood-stained and weary. Dark lashes fan over ivory skin still damp with tears, and beneath the shadowed eyelids his eyeballs dart and flicker. Soft puffs of breath huff from between parted lips, plump and lush in the early morning light and oh god how can he not kiss them now?

With one grazed hand he reaches out and gently brushes a dark lock from love's brow, the silky strands curling around his thick fingers. The young man stirs, turning his head into the touch, and suddenly the blond's fingers are buried in the soft dark waves at the nape of his neck. He drops his forehead to the plush grey fabric at his shoulder and takes a long moment to breathe. He is vanilla and wood spice, patchouli and lime.

"James?" the dark haired man is broken, too much emotion having already spilled forth. The salt tears drip once more, weighting down the sweep of lashes and glistening in the half-light. Love is cowering with fear that the dream is not real.

"I'm here," he croons massaging lightly over the taut muscles of the boy's too scrawny neck, hiding his own moist eyes in the fluffy warmth of the boy's unzipped hoodie. Thin arms close around him and squeeze the dream tightly against his chest.

"You're here?"

"Hush."

Slim fingers knead at his shoulder, finally drawing him up until the younger man can press a kiss to the short blond hair. Love dares not hope this is real, will not open his eyes for fear the moment will dissipate like smoke. Dry lips press against his and his heart soars. They are cigarettes and Earl Grey, whisky and _joy_, and they bask in the flavour of being 'more than', giving, receiving, sharing in love.

"I love you," the blond whispers, and there is wonder in those three words, realisation that he is no longer alone. Kisses trail over tear-streaked cheeks and finally, _finally_, love opens his eyes and sees the promise that burns in the blue of summer skies.

"James."

Strong arms pull him from the embrace of the cushions, rising with him in his arms. Love snuggles against the wrinkled shirt, murmuring sweet nonsense into the firm muscles beneath, trusting in the cradle that carries him, lays him down, wraps around him.

"I'm safe."

"You're safe," he agrees, the end of the word cracking into silence.

Relief is a burst of passion, kisses turning hard and hungry with bruising fingers, dragging him down to close the space between them. Clothing, their outer shells, are stripped away to leave them bare and shaking with the need to touch and be touched, reassurance that they are still here, they will go on.

"James," he pants, breath stolen, breath shared. "_James_."

"I love you," he swears.

Need and desperation, an upward spiral of desire that is not gentle or cautious, but brutal in its honesty. Teeth scrape over lust pricked skin, his mouth hot and wet, leaving marks of dark possession on its moonlight paleness. Calloused hands play across sharp angles and flat planes, lifting him, holding and soothing until his body yields.

"_James_," he keens, when it is all too much, when he _knows_ he could fly apart and never be whole again.

"James," he sighs when they melt into tenderness, lost moments between breaths, tickling over sensitised skin.

"I love you," he whispers, forever moments lost to love declared.


End file.
